The endless chase.

The cold metal of the bench
Transpire memories
of ancient days
where the moon and the sun
play the endless chase

the birds sing to them
songs of victories and fails

and to what end
the old man goes
back and forth
the old trail

on those gray hairs
runs wisdom of old days
that comes to memory
when the black veil
falls into shades
and from that wisdom 
the world comes to an end

it's not freedom nor hate
that borns on such haste
but unlimited solace of mind
that finds roots
on this eternal fair.

The bastard glory of inanimate objects.

On the far corner 
of the end of a house
resides all those objects
that bring us back,

and squeezing through time
we fall apart,

that incessant pound
that we hear
on the yonder side of the road
far away from the curtain
of the toasting smell 
beyond the mind can go
resides the glory 
that has no father,

by our ethereal essence
it take us to that conspicuous moment
where all the inanimate objects 
tear us apart,

on that recurrent feeling 
we dive on the deepest
where the sun cannot grasp,

in that farther end 
we plunge ourself
where the bastard glory
that belongs to the inanimate objects

The infinites limits that contain us.

By fear, I am not
by unanimous conception, I am not
by strenuous wonder, I am not
by sophisticated palate, I am not
by the blunders of time, I am not

On the verge of the container runs a capital death 
          that goes round and round 
                        and never falls
                             never surrenders

By the vertigo of attraction, We are not
by the supreme excerption, We are not
by the limitless motions, We are not
by the soliloquy of Hamlet, We are not
by the myriads of the mesmerized, We are not

On the back of a horse called flame rides a famish madness
          that goes back and forward
                        and never falls
                             never surrenders

This fatal rhythm that compel us 
     that compound us 
          that contain us
               that never free us
contains the key
         of the infinites limits
and by the lock runs a river
         of hopeless souls
            that never falls 
            that never surrenders.